District 2's 74th Games
by SeeTheFearAndSeeReality
Summary: Cato has harboured an adoration for the seemingly delicate Clove for some time. When he's pressured into volunteering for the Games the year she's reaped, he comes up with a plan: let the others eliminate her, and then avenge her. But that's easier said than done.
1. The Reaping

I was born to die.

That's one thought that's been haunting my mind since I had first learnt to talk. At first I had been terrified. But by now, I was ready. I wasn't exaggerating when I said die, by the way. It's not like, I was born to live and then die satisfied. I was born to be killed before I was eighteen. I was born to compete in the Hunger Games.

The origins of this suicide mission are simple—the 13 districts led a rebellion against the Capitol, lost, District 13 was destroyed, and now we must submit a girl and a boy to compete to the death in an arena as the Capitol watches and bets on who'll win. It's pretty sadistic really.

It's worse for the poorer districts like 11 and 12. They have no volunteers. Their tributes are just whoever Effie Trinket pulls out of the jumble of names. Here, someone's picked and almost always there's someone who's been training their whole life who isn't doing it for the person who was chosen, but for themselves. They want to bring pride to their district.

I started training with sticks when I was little. If I was selected, I wanted to stand a chance of winning. I didn't want a training score of 1 and then get killed in the bloodbath. Not that I would care much if I did. I'd be dead.

But the reaping's here. All I can think about is how no matter who is selected, I will volunteer. And then I'll win. And I'll make history. All that's going through my mind is volunteer, win, fortune. Those three words are the rest of my life. Those three words are all I must depend on.

But then I lose my train of thought. It goes right off the track because there, in front of me, is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. Small, tanned, and with perfect silky brown hair and a cream dress which showcases her beauty and modesty at the same time. She clearly does not know she has my attention.

Her name is Clove.

I know her from my training. She began only a year after I did. She does not tend to showcase many obvious talents, however, and so I have no high expectations for her survival in the Games.

Since her first day, I have spent a lot of my time just staring at her. She looks at me sometimes, too, but not the way I'd like her to. A lot of girls flirt with me during training, and smile at me, and ask me to help them improve their aim with a spear. And I oblige as best I can, but none of them appeal to me—not since the first time I saw her.

Guys count me lucky for attracting Eva's attention. They all want her, but I keep insisting I couldn't care less. They don't believe me. They see nothing wrong with her, everything right with her. How ironic. That's exactly how I feel about Clove. But not Eva. Never Eva. At least, not for me.

Eva's possibly the vainest person I have ever met. She's always batting her eyelids and prancing around the centre, giggling whilst she does. The guys always jeer at her, yelling crude compliments which she blushes at but makes the other girls grimace. Out of jealousy or disgust, I can't be sure.

Despite her obvious flattered persona, they say, she only has eyes for me. Once again, I tell them I hate her. Once again, they don't believe me.

Clove glances over every now and again, but most of the time she has disapproving eyes and a face that's looking for us to grow up and stop eyeing Eva. I think, for the first time, if she really is jealous. Jealous of Eva; jealous of the attention she gets.

I wonder how long Eva would last in the arena. Six seconds, tops. She's beautiful; even I'm not arguing, and desirable, sure. She's certain to get sponsors. But you need more than that to survive. You need to know how. You need to have skill. And Eva just doesn't. She still has three years of waiting to be drawn. And my guess is, no one will volunteer if it means getting rid of Eva.

Despite my tough exterior, I've never spoken to Clove. As far as I gather, she has a younger sister. I've seen her around. They have the same eyes; that's how I know. It may seem out there, but not to me. I'd recognise Clove's eyes anywhere. The way they shone even whilst waiting at the reaping. The way they could go from innocent to sharp in just less than a second. The way they always seemed brighter in the night, reflecting any light the moon provided.

The similarities between Clove and the girl did not stop at their eyes. Their faces were both covered in freckles, from their noses to their cheeks. How petite and vulnerable they looked in the midst of the district. How their eyebrows arches perfectly, inquisitively, over those perfect eyes themselves. And despite her sister only being three years younger, she already had Clove's seemingly carved-in scowl which, when it was upturned, formed a rather nasty smirk.

There was one very definite feature which separated them. The younger's eyes were not full of menace. They were not full of hope and resentment combined. They were full of a very obvious form of fear. Right then, it was clear that although Clove seemed to be no fighter, Mini Clove would easily crumble in the arena within the first second.

And with my feelings for Clove, came my protection directed at the little girl. I was both reluctant and unwilling to provide safety for anyone but myself, but I found I had to make Clove happy. I did care for her; despite my better judgement not to care about anyone on the off chance they may enter the arena and I'll never see them again. And despite the impression I gave, that much pain would cripple me.

As I stood in line with the other sixteen-year-olds, I saw Clove standing with Eva, though I was sure it wasn't by choice. As some Capitol weirdo rambled on in a shrill voice I stared at Clove. She was completely oblivious that I was looking at her. She was staring up at the stage, doing her best to not look at Eva as she whispered something in her ear.

She was doing a good job of ignoring her until she suddenly whipped her head around to stare at her. It looked like Eva repeated something, and then Clove looked back at me. Ashamed at having been caught pining for her, I quickly looked away, but it was too late. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eva half-smirk, half-scowl in my direction, jealousy and satisfaction mixing together. Clove looked immediately back up at the stage, returning to pretending like Eva wasn't right there. I would give anything to know what she was thinking, but despite my lack of mind reading skills I knew that she was pointedly avoiding my eyes just as much as Eva's.

The words "Ladies first" drew my attention away from Clove. The long, bony hand sifted through the slips, all of which had a girl's name written on it. Four tiny slips in that bowl said Clove Clayfer. I was begging any other name to be drawn, any name except Clove's. I wanted Eva to be reaped, I wanted Mini Clove to be reaped; I wanted anyone—but her.

The high-pitched shriek then exclaimed, "Clove Clayfer!" and I swear, my heart stopped.

Volunteer! I begged mentally. Anyone, anyone, just volunteer! Please! I found myself desperate. I was tempted to volunteer myself, but then realised what that would look like, combined with my seemingly sudden interest in her not five minutes ago.

No one volunteered.

I spared a glance at Clove. Next to her, Eva was staring at her, her eyes playful. I did not see Clove's face from where I was, but I knew this was all over for me. She was going to die. I might be the one to do it. I was horrified. Clearly, I didn't have to kill her. Someone else could easily do that. But the thought of someone else hurting her was too much for me. The thought of settling down only to see her face in the sky, announcing her death, with me oblivious to who had done it or how it had happened, if she had screamed, if she had felt any pain—well, it was too painful.

I watched helplessly as Clove stood up on the stage and the Capitol person grabbed her hand, held it up as if in triumph and said some unintelligible to me. I tuned out pretty much until some little thirteen-year-old boy was reaped and someone behind me nudged me. I half-minded volunteered and found myself up there, too, standing right beside the girl I had least wanted there at that moment.

As we were ushered into separate rooms, I stared at the wall. She was on the other side. In only a week, she would be dead. I tried to hear her, but was met with silence. Either she was being quiet, or the walls were too thick. I personally didn't know which I'd prefer.

I hardly registered my parents arriving and hugging me and telling me to be brilliant. I was silent the whole time my brother was reminding me about how he won the Games. I was only responsive when a couple guys from the centre sauntered in because, really, they'd want me to be and know something was seriously wrong if I was moping about after bragging about this moment for months.

Sure, I had bragged. But that was before I would enter the arena as Clove's enemy and rival.

Time crept slowly. Despite my best efforts to act like nothing was wrong, one guy hung back a little while longer than the others. I could hardly tell them apart when I was myself, let alone a wreck like I was right now.

He said, "It's meant to be, Cato. She was reaped because you're meant to compete."

I shook my head, and almost saw how blank my own eyes looked. "If it was meant to be, I'd have been reaped too. I just signed her death sentence."

He patted me on the shoulder and then left. I supposed he had no argument and knew he couldn't get through to me even if he did.

Because I was right. I had just signed Clove's death sentence. Because of me, because of the faith my family has in me, she can't win.

So she will die.

And I know that will be forever on my conscience.


	2. The Train

**Btw, I really, truly apologise for how awful this is...**

By the time I'm shown to my room on the train, I've finally pulled my thoughts together. I don't have to kill Clove. It'll all be okay. I can let someone else do it. I don't have to watch. Then I'll kill her murderer to avenge her—and win with a clear conscience.

Clove was sitting by the window, silently watching the world pass her by, when I found her. I cleared my throat to alert her of my arrival but she simply nodded without looking at me.

"I heard you coming," she said in a perfect voice that I had never heard before. She then raised her eyes to look at my reflection in the window. There was certain stubbornness to her expression which threatened to draw me in.

As soon as I properly registered not only her voice but the words she had spoken, I was flooded with confusion. "How did you hear me? I wasn't making any noise."

She lowered her eyes again and seemed to be considering something before she turned and looked me in the eye, unnerving me. "Not everyone has crap hearing," she snapped, no longer in her charming voice. This one was full of menace and spite, and for a brief minute I wasn't sure where this left us. But then I realised there was no us, and I went back to my longing.

I muttered, "Sorry," finding myself dreading her anger being directed at me. And suddenly I found myself not just upset that Clove was mad at me, but attempting to make amends to earn her alliance in the arena—and not make an enemy already.

She scoffed at the word turned back to the window, though not to avoid my gaze, I knew. "You expect me to believe that?" Before I could reply, she continued, "I know your type, Cato. Volunteer to improve your district's honour, no matter who dies along the way. Kill little kids just so you can get rich. Well, I've got news for you, Cato. I'm going to win this time. And you know why? Because I'm smarter than you think."

She then extracted a shining object and I only recognised it as a knife when, a second later, it was stuck in the wall right beside my ear. It was well in there. I didn't want to try to remove it in fear of looking like an idiot because even from where I was, I could see at least half of the blade was now impeded in wood.

Then she was there, beside me, placed her hand comfortably on the knife, moved it up and down once to loosen the hold and stole it from the wall. I had no idea where it had come from, but I did know that maybe I had underestimated her in the centre. And for obvious reasons, that made her all the more appealing to me.

When I looked back at her, I saw she was no longer trying to avoid me. She was staring right into my eyes as she said, clearly, "I will win because people will trust me."

I did not dare move until she had left. Only then did I relax slightly, albeit visibly, as my shoulders slumped and I breathed out a sigh. Okay, so maybe it wouldn't be _that _simple for Clove to be eliminated. She was right, after all. People would trust her. _I _would trust her, for one.

The whole time that Enobaria was replaying her victory to me, I thought of Clove. Of the look on her face when she'd caught me looking at her. Of how her knife had felt in the air as it glided past my ear. Of how her breath had felt when she'd warned me of her impending triumph…

This was bad. Now that I'd actually talked to her, she was no longer a distraction. She was a hindrance. My thoughts were no longer only consumed by her upon sight. It was a constant burden. Her eyes and their sharpness… Her voice and how she'd snapped at me, how she'd spoken… I was addicted. She was my own personal drug. I began to automatically replay our encounters in slow motion. In my memories, I tried to overhear what Eva had said to her, but it was ridiculous. I was going out of my freaking mind.

The sudden whoosh of the sliding doors alerted me to her entrance. She gave Enobaria a bold smile which made her glow. I'd never seen her smile before—she should do it more often.

"You must be the girl. Clover, is it?" Enobaria's teeth flashed as she spoke, outstretching a hand to shake Clove's. She didn't flinch at Enobaria's fangs like I had. After shaking hands, Enobaria looked her up and down. "You're a lot smaller in person."

"Its Clove," she said, in that beautiful voice. "I haven't been Clover since I was four." She didn't reply to Enobaria's comment about her size. I guessed it was a sensitive matter for her.

"Well, your timing could not be worse. You completely missed my pep talk about how I won. Things can happen in the most mysterious ways." Enobaria sounded scolding, like a mother who was mad her daughter hadn't completed her chores. There was a tinge of warmth in her eyes that had not been there for me, and I remembered hearing once that she had had a daughter who had died young. Perhaps Clove reminded her of her.

"You tore out a guy's throat and the Capitol awarded you. I'll survive without the first person perspective." I noticed that Clove was on the edge of cracking like she had with me. Regardless, she regained herself in a way which made her look the least suspicious, and Enobaria didn't suspect a thing.

"That's the thing. You won't. In order to survive, you need first person perspective of experienced killers. You're still children." All kindness had vanished from her, replaced with a sudden darkness I assumed was brought about by the memories she wasn't as proud of. "First, you need a weapon of choice. A talent. Something to focus on. Its better to be amazing in one factor than decent in two." She turned her eyes to me. "Cato?"

"I like the sword," I said immediately. My voice came out strong and confident, thank God, and she nodded in approval.

"Excellent for hand-to-hand combat. Especially when you're against a less worthy opponent." I was pleased to have satisfied her.

But then she turned her steely glare to Clove and I froze. Despite everything, I felt the sudden urge to leap in front of my fellow tribute and protect her from this sharp-toothed and sharp-tongued victor. I could barely stop myself from leaping from my chair, forcing myself to dig my nails into my palms as my fingers curled into strong fists. I kept my eyes on Enobaria, ready to pounce. The whole idea was completely delusional, but true to my instincts. "And you?" I could tell she was struggling not to call Clove a midget or something else degrading to her size. I would have called her arrogant for misjudging her simply based on that fact, but I had made the same mistake myself, so I remained silent.

"I throw knives," Clove perked up. She locked her gaze with Enobaria, her eyes filled with courage and determination and spirit. "I never miss. You can bet on it."

"I'm not the one that'll be doing the betting." A surge of anger rose in me to see Enobaria's doubt. How dare she? "You should be going," she said stubbornly, then up and left.

"We get two mentors, right?" Clove asked me out of the blue, her tone purely conversational. I jumped at the chance to actually talk to her in a way which did not involve threats, knives or implications of the other's death.

"Hope so. She scares the shit outa me. And she ripped someone's throat out before she got the tusks? I'll bet you they're poisoned. One prick and boom, you're dead." I reached my hand out to her, hoping she'd accept the bet just so that I could touch her. Oh, how I wanted to touch her…

"Tusks aren't teeth," she pointed out, a snide grin on her face, but she seemed to be remaining civil. "And I'll accept your bet. If you prove me wrong."

Realising what was wrong with my plan, I took my hand back and simply said, "Oh."

"Your conversational skills astound me." If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was flirting. But I did know better. Didn't I? "Are you ready to make a deal, Rosen?"

"I thought I already suggested that. You shot me down."

The fire flared once more. "Stop acting like a wounded puppy and listen. The Careers always make an alliance, correct?" I nodded. "That means that we'll have to trust two—" she considered something for a moment "—three people we've never met before to save our skin. That doesn't sound like moonlight and roses. The minute there's the chance for one of us to die, the others'll do it. Careers may make the most useful allies—that doesn't make them useful. Understand?"

I thought this over for a moment, then shook my head. "Not really, no."

"District One and District Two team up to start with. Eventually, half of them end up killing the other half in their sleep. We're gonna stop ourselves from being the other half."

I was left dumbstruck by her use of "we" I had to try it on for size. "We?"

"Yes, dumbass, 'we'. We have to get close."

"Close?" Oh, how similar "close" was to "Clove"… _Dammit, Cato, snap out of it!_

"What is the only thing which people change for? The bad become good. They learn to feel, because of that one special person." She rolled her eyes at my blank expression. "Love. They are gonna be so in love with us that they couldn't contemplate killing us. And that's when we strike."

"What if we strikeout?" I found myself saying without thinking. "I mean, you know what happens. They try to manipulate someone into falling in love with them to the point they fall for the whole game."

"That's just it, Cato"—God, did I love the way she said my name with a slight drawl—"It's the games. They're games. Are you prepared to fall in love with her? Because I've seen her. Blonde hair, pretty blue eyes. The kind that draws admirers, gains sponsors and uses her 'wiley charms' to seduce anyone stupid enough to fall for them. Are _you_ stupid, Cato?" She said it again!

It was probably my ego telling me that a hint of jealousy was causing her to search my face for an answer before I gave her one. But I couldn't help but wonder if, for once, I was right about what a girl was thinking. There's a first time for everything.

"What about your… project?" I asked her, trying to keep my reservations out of my voice. I didn't want her shacking up with some District One bloke she didn't even know.

"Not much to look at, but not smart enough to figure it out." Her long, drawn out pause killed me as she leaned back in her chair, lowered her gaze and seemed to be lost in thought.

"Would they have much objection if they jumped out the train right now?"

She cracked a smile and I might even have heard a hint of a laugh. "Goodnight, Victim," she said in a manner which implied something more.

My heart beating faster, I replied, "Good night. Clove."

It was the first time I'd said her name aloud and I liked the way it felt on my tongue. _Clove_. Just before she left, she turned back and smiled at my use of her name. Then she said, "Oh, and just for the record? If you were to jump out the train right now? You might finally get an answer to that bet."

She left, and I couldn't help but laugh.


End file.
